Chocolate Lava
by Meohy
Summary: Mello's got a chocolate craving, so he drags Matt to Dominos to try out their Chocolate Lava Crunch Cakes. Oh, but our favorite couple falls victim to marketing lies. And no one crosses Mello with inadequate chocolate. And remains alive.


"Matt. Grab your keys. We're going out."

On a date?

Mello waves a hand in front of the TV, interrupting my wishful thinking along with my _Lord of the Rings_ game play.

"Yeah . . . gimme a sec." I say. My eyes don't move from the screen.

I've been playing _The Third Age _for the past couple hours in peaceful seclusion. Mello has been out all day, and now that he's home, he doesn't wait to order me around. Not that I mind. Maybe I should make it worthwhile—I seriously consider asking him if this is a date.

"Your assault of the Umbarians can wait." He's impatient. What's so important? I dismiss the thought. This game is predictable (as it follows the classic movie trilogy), and the fighting is too simple; it doesn't harbor a challenge. RPGs. Why do I bother?

"'Kay…but the Ghost King is going to be pissed that I'm stiffing him so soon into our alliance."

Wait, where are we going?

I voice this concern.

"Dominos." He answers, shaking my keys. "Let's go."

I crawl from my Indian-style sitting position on the hardwood floor to game console under the television. The screen is already blank (Mello having shut it off with the remote), so I flip the power button and stand.

I wait until we're sitting in my Camaro to ask, "Tell me why I'm driving you to Dominos again, Mels?"

As Mello covers his cobalt eyes with his shades, I catch the amusement shinning in them. "I want to try their Chocolate Lava Cake."

"Right," I say, putting the key in the ignition. My hands grip the wheel, my right foot's on the gas peddle. Shadow passes over the front window, chased away by the rays of sunshine as I move out of the garage, onto the sun-drenched street. And we're off. "Why didn't you just take your motorcycle then?"

He rolls down his window and sticks his arm out it, hand open against the strong, blustery streamline of air. "You needed to get out of the house."

I venture denial.

He counters with, "You don't need fresh air? Then you should've known that I couldn't carry the box of lava cake and drive the motorcycle. Well, at least not without being reckless. Face it—staying locked up in our dungeon of an apartment is rotting your brain, my friend."

I should've caught that. I feel off today. I think I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Nah. That's Mello's job, what with having a shitty mood 90% of the time. I snicker quietly to myself. He gives me a funny look—it's hard to tell if he's glaring at me through his black sunglasses.

We're silent the rest of the way. As I pull into the parking lot, I ask, "Drive-thru or dine-in?"

"Dine-in. Let's make it a date."

My heart skips a beat. I clutch the steering wheel tighter, a nervous laugh escaping my lips. He doesn't seem to notice. He's joking, right?

I slow my car to a stop and he steps out, into the warm rays of the mid-day sun. He pushes his sunglasses up to his golden hair, and smiles. Rare. Is it my lovesick expression? He's waiting expectantly for me follow him, but I can't stop staring at him.

He's a god. He's like a beautiful, unobtainable angel to me . . . heh. Or some sappy shit like that. I-I mean, the fact that he wears leather in the summer proves he has otherworldly powers. Oh, shoot me. I'm totally into him.

"Yo, Matt! You okay?"

I quickly shuffle outside to file in beside him as he stalks across the searing black pavement of the parking lot. "Yeah. I'm fine. Sorry . . . my eyes."

Photosensitivity. It's a terrible inconvenience. But a helpful excuse.

We reach the smudged glass door to Dominos, and he holds it open for me.

"We'll make this quick then. The faster I get my chocolate, the better."

"Agreed."

We get in line, and wait. I ponder strategies to make it further in _The Third Age_. I try to decide who to put up as my defense on the Pelenor Fields, which spells and attacks to use. I'm on the battle for Minas Tirith. I'll be fighting a mix of Oliphants, Haradrim, and Orcs. Piece of cake. Okay, maybe not the Oliphants…I haven't faced them before. Well, they shouldn't be too difficult. I mean, they're just elephants on steroids, right? Yeah. Focus on my heroes. Obviously I should keep my Elf healer chick out of the main skirmish because she doesn't have much health and defense, but her magic is pretty powerful…No. My warriors do more attack damage. I'll just have to switch her in for healing, and hope she doesn't take a hit. Okay, that means I'll use my dwarf—

"MATT!"

Huh, what?

Mello's sudden exclamation of my name brings me out of my own little gamming world. He's gesturing for me to move up in line with a knowing look on his face, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Oops. I really need to pay attention, learn not to zone out so easily.

A blush reddening my face, I trudge up to his side again.

"Maybe I should put you on a leash," he jokes.

I'd like that.

"Yeah. The chance of losing me would decrease significantly, though I'm not sure how the general public would react to a grown man tugging another grown man around on a leash." I say, sounding very matter-of-fact. I didn't mean to come across as _that_ nerdy. Oh well. It's better than drooling, I guess.

"I wouldn't care."

Before I can respond, he's called to order and I awkwardly hover behind him.

More waiting. Then, he turns to me, a small rectangular box in his hand. We go scavenge for a table. He expertly selects one far from any windows.

"How're you holding up?"

There's an uncomfortable itching feeling in my eyes, so I guess the burning sensation is slowly escalating. I won't mention this. As long as I keep my eyes glued to the floor, I'll be fine. Must not look directly into light.

"I told you I'm fine if I've got my goggles," I tap on the orange plastic shielding my eyes for emphasis. "So no worries."

He nods, and opens the box containing his chocolate cake. "Pretty small, don't you think?"

We both stare down at the lava cakes disappointedly. He's right—they do look smaller than the way they're advertised. Damn marketing lies.

"You can have mi—" I start to offer.

"No, no. I won't let you do that. I mean, it wouldn't be fair after I dragged you out here and your eyes are bothering you." I can see the fury bubbling inside of him. He's icy blue eyes narrow, fists clench.

"Really. It's fine . . ."

"Ugh, I can't believe it. What a fucking rip-off!"

He's on his feet quickly, but so am I. "Mello." I place a hand on his shoulder. "_Chill_."

Now, now, my rageaholic. Let's not create a scene.

He swats my hand away. People are staring. Like we both care.

"We're in public," I continue, unfazed. I've been through this so many times. "Please." I try a convincing smile.

With a sigh, he sits back down. "Definitely not worth the $3.99." He mutters under his breath.

"But, see? It's filled with chocolate! Watch this." I stab the cake with my fork and it crunches, and hot fudge comes oozing out like lava (hence, the name). I take my forkful and place it in my mouth. "Mmm, it's good." I say cheerfully.

The chocolate burns the roof of my mouth and proceeds to singe my throat. Ow.

But I'm trying to get Mello to lighten up. The malice doesn't leave his icy glare. Ow.

My efforts are unsuccessful. Ouch.

"I should talk to the manager about this…" He says quietly, each word dripping with disdain.

"That's not necessary."

I take another bite. He crams the fist-sized cake in his mouth whole, and I'm a bit worried. I blink, then stare at him taken aback.

"It's pretty tasty." He admits reluctantly.

Terrific. He's not ditching this shitty mood until he gets what he wants.

I gesture behind the counter, towards the manager's office with my chocolate-covered fork. "Go crazy."

Mello immediately perks up, a wicked grin gracing his handsome features. "Thanks, Matty."

He's bounces up from the table and happily trudges over to the manager's office.

With my mouth full of more cake, I call after him. "If you threaten the manager with your gun we're both dead!"

Silence. Everyone's eyes are on me, beholding me wide and horrified.

I choke on my cake a little. "Kidding," I manage.

Before he disappears into the office, Mello looks over his shoulder, and he gives me an _I-left-it-in-the-car-silly _look. I roll my eyes.

It isn't long before a girlish shriek is heard, Mello's raging voice is prevalent, and I'm constantly shot glares of hate or pity. I'm surprised we haven't been asked to leave yet. I guess because we're paying customers?

I shut everything out and reflect in my _Third Age _logistics. I'm finished my cake by the time he's approaching me, a triumphant smile on his angel face.

Oh god. What'd he do this time? Then I see it. Clasped between Mello's hands is a large chocolate lava cake about a half a foot in diameter. He joins me at the table, still beaming, and jabs a fork into the cake. He watches as hot fudge oozes out with sadistic pleasure.

Through a mouthful of chocolate, he declares: "Justice is served."

You're a god, Mello.


End file.
